


When the Night Wanders

by ensuingentropy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Lydia Helps, Possible Suicide Mention, a bit of angst?, stiles is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 23:00:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3505982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ensuingentropy/pseuds/ensuingentropy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I never said you needed to be fixed, Stiles. There's nothing wrong with you."</p>
<p>Stiles inhales deeply. "Except there is."</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Night Wanders

**Author's Note:**

> This was written right after that season 3b episode where Stiles stabbed Scott. The really creepy and heartbreaking episode? Yeah, that's the one. This is pretty canon-compatible. My heart was hurting and I needed some Stydia. Very short, but kinda pretty. Very much unbeta'd. I take complete responsibility for any and all typos.

When Stilinski opens the door, Lydia knows that something is wrong. The sheriff's forehead is creased with deep lines and there's an expression of anxiety, panic maybe, etched into his features. For a fleeting moment Lydia thinks that he looks so much older. The toll that knowledge about the supernatural takes is a great one and Lydia has been wondering how the down to earth sheriff has been handling it. Now she sees that it's been severely difficult for him, perhaps more than anyone else.

"What is it, why'd you call me?" she asks as he lets her in.

"It's Stiles," he sits down at the kitchen table, his head in his hands, "he started talking earlier about what he did while the nogitsune was controlling him. He said some scary things, Lydia, and then he locked himself in his room and I even tried to break the door down but I think he piled stuff in front of it or something - "

She places her hand on his shoulder. "Do you want me to talk to him?" She realizes it's a dumb question but she's trying to force her own panic down.

"Scott didn't answer his phone," Stilinski mumbles, running a hand across his tired face. "And honestly, I think Stiles might listen to you."

Lydia doesn't have the heart to tell him that she's never been good with this stuff. So she just nods and makes her way down the hallway and stops in front of Stiles' closed door. She purses her lips when she notices the chipped doorframe. He must have really slammed it.

She knocks softly on the door. "Stiles, you there?"

She hears a shuffling on the other side. Someone draws in a breath, as if about to speak, but there's a hesitation. And then, "Lydia?"

"Hey, Stiles," Lydia murmurs, unsure of what else to say.

"My dad called you." Stiles' voice is flat and Lydia can almost picture him, maybe sitting on the floor with his back pressed against whatever it is that he pushed against the door. Before she can reply, he continues, "He worries too much. I just need to be alone right now. Please... just go. Leave."

Lydia winces because even though she knows he's upset, that hurts. Ever since she can remember, Stiles has been there, hovering and asking questions and always by her side whether she needed him or not and she knows that she's ignored him a lot in the past. But getting rejected by him is an entirely new alley.

"I'm not going anywhere," she murmurs, and slides down to the floor with a loud thud. With finality. She doesn't want Stiles to think he can drive her off so easily.

There are a few beats of silence, but Stiles can't hold out for long. Because he's Stiles and Lydia knows him well enough to wait for him to talk first. And he does. "I'm okay, you know."

Lydia leans her head against the door. "Except you're not, and don't try to tell me that you are, Stiles," she says softly. "And it's not just your dad worried. We all are." She keeps her tone gentle, though whether to keep herself focused or Stiles, she isn't quite sure.

She hears a faint scoff. "Don't pull that bullshit with me," Stiles says. "The speaking with the low, calm voice thing. Like if you speak too loud I'll snap and have a mental breakdown. I've already been to the asylum and I don't much plan on going back. I'm not some psychological case that you or anyone else needs to fix, okay? I'm doing fine."

Lydia sighs. "I never said you needed to be fixed, Stiles. There's nothing wrong with you."

Stiles inhales deeply. "Except there is."

And there it is. Lydia knew that Stiles would open up a bit eventually but now that he's unlocked the gate she has no idea what to do. "You're a good person." It sounds pathetic even to her own ears, but she can't seem to gather her thoughts.

"No." Stiles' tone sounds so empty that Lydia can hardly believe it's really him. "I killed people, Lydia. I killed good people. I fucking stabbed Scott. My best friend. And I don't even know how I'm feeling right now because I think I'm numb and that could be shock finally settling in but god, I really hate myself. I'm a monster, Lydia, and it's like everywhere I go I can't get away from the shadows."

She runs a fingernail across the bottom of his door. "That wasn't you, Stiles," she insists. "You did not do those things. It was the nogitsune and you know it."

He laughs, but it's bitter and hollow and reminds Lydia vaguely of the crumble of a withered leaf in autumn. "Maybe it wasn't me, Lydia, but I could feel what I was doing, you know? Even though I had no control I could still tell that I was doing horrible things. And there was nothing I could do to stop it. Maybe if I was stronger..." His voice thinned. "Maybe if I was stronger, I could have fought it off. I could have saved those people."

"Stiles, there was nothing you could have done," Lydia whispers, even though she doesn't even know if that's true.

"I need to die." He sounds so matter of fact and states it as if it's mere normalcy. And Lydia's breath hitches. She presses her hand to the door, as if it will bring her closer to him.

"Stiles, don't say that," and Lydia can hear her voice nearing an edge of hysteria. And that's when she feels panic welling up in her throat, because no one can protect Stiles from himself. "We can talk about this, Stiles. You're not thinking straight, your mind's not in a good place." She suddenly slams her fist against the door. "Please, just let me in."

"The last time I let someone in, it took my mind away from me. And that didn't work out too well," Stiles' voice cracks and Lydia's chest aches. "I'm not doing any good here and you guys are all fine on your own. No one needs me, not really. I'm a fucking killer, no one needs that kind of person around."

"Stiles, I need you," Lydia says. "I need you. You make me feel safe." And it's true. When she's with Stiles she feels as if nothing and no one can touch her. "You're the last scrap of sanity I have with this goddamn werewolf business and my own boyfriend was a Kanima, for God's sake, and... and apparently I'm something too, and nothing ever feels like it's even happening anymore but you, Stiles, you're the only real thing left sometimes and I need that. I need you."

Her voice has risen to an almost pitiful octave but she's trying to keep herself from crying. Don't cry, Lydia tells herself, you don't get to cry when Stiles is the one in pain.

She doesn't hear anything from the other side of the door and that's when she finally cracks. Lydia lets out the abrupt scream that's been trapped deep in her throat and she pounds her fist hard against the wood. A single tear drips to the floor - she feels it, more than sees it - and it pisses her off but it's soon followed by another and she doesn't know how to stop. 

Suddenly there's a loud shuffling from inside Stiles' room, like something is being dragged, and Lydia pulls herself to her feet while hastily wiping at her eyes. Then the door slowly opens.

Lydia sees bloodshot eyes and rumpled hair and shaky hands and a bleeding lip - he must have been biting it, hard - and the gleaming trails left by his tears seem almost embedded across his cheeks and for some reason Lydia envisions a silvery flower pressed to the page of a worn-out notebook. He looks so beaten down and guilt ridden, and yet childishly innocent, and her chest feels tight with anguish, she thinks. This boy emanates sorrow and exhaustion but this is still him, this is still her Stiles. 

"I just," he takes a deep breath, and then another, as if steadying himself. "I don't know what to do."

Lydia looks up at him and grasps his face gently between her hands. "Stiles, I cannot lose you." And maybe it won't help Stiles figure anything out but she needs him to know that he's worth it, that the shadows won't consume him, that he can survive.

And then his face just crumbles like it's fragile porcelain that can no longer withstand the cracks in its foundation. Lydia pulls him close as he buries his face in her neck and she doesn't even care that his arms are wrapped around her way too tight. And when she notices his breathing has quickened to a pace that is practically uncontrollable, she remembers the time in the locker room when Stiles had a panic attack. Without hesitation, Lydia kisses him and he kisses back and although it's messy and desperate and leaves behind shadows of makeup smudges and empty tears, Lydia has never felt safer. And she hopes that Stiles feels safe, too.

Finally, Stiles pulls back. He's calmer now, albeit a bit of a wreck, but Lydia thinks she sees his expression lift. "That... really helps. Thank you, Lydia," Stiles whispers, and she hears the heavier meaning behind his words. She glimpses a hint of a smile.

Lydia smiles back. "Well, you know... I just read it somewhere."


End file.
